


Beginnings of Madness

by GypsumLilac



Series: Warfell: Romance of Nations [3]
Category: Undertale
Genre: Alternate beginning to Warfell, Assisted Suicide, Death, Frisk is non-theistic, Gen, One-Shot, Underfell AU, Warfell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 10:47:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17364581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GypsumLilac/pseuds/GypsumLilac
Summary: Frisk says they'll be done resetting after one more run. Flowey tries to convince them otherwise.





	Beginnings of Madness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Crystallized_Rose_Rebel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crystallized_Rose_Rebel/gifts).



> Not sure what to say, I don't wanna get your hopes up... This was written a while ago and I realized I need a different start for my upcoming serious Warfell fic, but at the same time, I kinda didn't want to let this beginning go. So I figured I'd post it as a one-shot. 
> 
> Thank you, and sorry, to metawasteoftime (AKA Keni, AKA Awesome Dude), who beta-read/edited my work. I will be pushing onward, just with a different start.

In the midst of the settling dust shimmering from a red-streaked orange sunrise over the twisted metal and stone ruins of a city, a kid and a flower hold each other tightly, arms in vines. The kid, looking as dead as the corpses littering the cracked street, licks a golden petal, which flicks in dry annoyance.

The kid can’t stop time. Currents that twist ever forward inexorably, effects bleeding to causes bleeding to effects. They are the god of the new world and yet they can only make new causes.

_ Bored. So many boring councils, so many boring people, so many boring events. Councils assigning blame deciding fates. Exploration into their minds and hearts until each one is an open book. No time for family. No time for friends. Not when all the time in the world isn’t enough to change bias nor heal hatred.  _

What happens when those causes are exhausted?

“I want to ERASE this world.” The kid, Frisk, whispers softly and the flower tenses in their arms. “For good.” Death won’t change anything, the corpses mutter. It’s only the fading of a story into memory. When one story ends, another is picked up. Death means nothing.  _ So why shouldn’t the god bring about the END. _ “I’m so tired. Flowey…” -help.- They finish in sign. The vines holding Frisk’s hands stiffen.

_ Peaceful laughter, jokes met with outraged rants, walking down the street, a small mob of friends.                                                                                                              tick. thunderspark. Dust glowed red like splattered blood in the slow-motion wind of a shockwave. Blue jacket fluttered ownerless on a shocked bloody stump. Screams faded to black ringing as blood filled the street and mingled with dust. Empty clothes and torn corpses filled the heat with the smell of charred copper and bitter smoke. tick. Thunderspa- _

“I thought you wanted peace.” Flowey runs a vine through Frisk’s frizzy brown hair.

“I- I do…” Frisk falters, twisting their brow in confusion, a hint of anger flickering in their eyes. “Death is peace.” Flowey always said so. So many times. Countless darknesses pouring over. 

_ Tangled sirens and screaming limbs- Earth and metal and dust and blood blotted out the sun- Eyes- green eyes- green eyes so wide- veiled with red and grey- ringing in ears won’t stop- won’t stop- fire and regret in eyelids- poison in veins- and now they’re all dead.  _

The golden flower sighs. “I was wrong.” Then what is it? 

_ A rock in the midst of a flood. A tree bending in a hurricane. Is that peace? _

“But we keep failing, Flowey, we’ve tried everything!” Frisk’s hands move in a flurry with the words, Flowey’s vines barely able to stay wrapped around them. Literally every alternate path has been trodden, every choice taken and twisted thousands- millions of times. Nothing can surprise Frisk anymore. There is no conflict when one is god. Only true death remains. 

“I know. But is this what you want to end it on? Another dead end?” Flowey snaps, unintentionally punning.

Frisk flinches and pulls away, hugging their arms around their chest. "I want peace.” 

Flowey’s empty vines wave uncertainly. “Is that really what you want?” 

_ Metal bars and scratchy ropes, rotten greed, the smell of sulphur. Wet heat blooms from emptied lungs. Copper taste drips down rasping lips. Green and gold grins. “Next time.” Next time will be better. But it never was.  _

-I did everything for peace.- Frisk signs in a fury. Because how dare he question his god. 

“I’m just asking, Frisk.” He sighs again, the only sign of his weariness. “What if I told you I could get you a new path. A giant deviation from the timeline that bores you.”

If true, it would mean thousands of new routes, millions of new possibilities. But… “I’m so tired. Won’t you let me die?” -Flowey, we could die together.- They reach out with an expression of eerie calm to the flower. He slaps their hand away with a thorny vine. But death's the only way to get peace in this world. Flowey just doesn’t understand that.  _ Why doesn’t he trust his god? _

_ Search- search for peace- pull every string, a spider in its web, invincible and omnipotent- see the brown eyes with their furor so cold- see the dust on hands and the blood on the mirror- already it’s lost.  _

“I won’t let you do it.” Flowey’s words aren’t a threat, they’re a promise. “Listen to me. Just follow my plan and I’ll find you a way to win.”

A way to win. It has a certain attractive ring to it. With such a dramatic delivery, he has to be serious. -Way to peace for everyone?-

“Yeah, Frisk. For everyone.”  _ Maybe the god needs to depend on other people to win. Maybe true happiness can be reached.  _

For everyone. Frisk, and Flowey, and everyone. Frisk hugs Flowey tightly and gives him a kiss on one petal. “Darling, you’re spectacular.” They whisper, high praise.

“Get off of me, you metta-trash.” Flowey extricates himself and brushes off his stem, looking gruff. But there’s a red tint to his disk as he stares over the fallen buildings at the crescent moon on the horizon. He loves his god. Frisk is in love with him for it. “This involves skipping back to right after the Barrier broke. You still have that one, right?”

Frisk pulls up their two saves to check. "No... I'll have to reset." They smile weakly. -Trust?-

Flowey gazes into Frisk's eyes and presses a shapeshifted muzzle against their lips. "Yes." He says, kissing again on their cheek, which darkens. "Don't erase my memory, if you can help it, though. If you can't, just remember that this time, we make the monsters stay Underground longer.”

-How?- Frisk raises their eyebrows in disbelief. 

“New perspectives, partner. Trust me. Let's do this, this place is creeping me out.” Flowey runs a vine along Frisk's cheek. 

“Yeah,” Frisk shudders, avoiding meeting the eyes of a black-haired corpse. “At least they’re at peace…” -Currently.-

Flowey’s plan better work. If it doesn’t, Frisk always has their former plan. Either way, this world’s god will bring about peace.  

The bloody vine through Frisk’s red-glowing chest is connected to another who knows and hopes the same. _ The kiss on their lips tastes like tea and gunpowder, like shadows dancing with firelight on a cave wall. _

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave comment and kudos if you liked it :D thank you for reading.  
> (And yes, the last line is alluding to Lab Rat, the Portal comic...)


End file.
